


Aftermath

by Steel_Feather



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I wrote this before Endgame so consider it an AU where Tony lives, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, semi-hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steel_Feather/pseuds/Steel_Feather
Summary: Peter is never as okay as he pretends to be.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Aftermath

At night, when he’s supposed to be sleeping, Peter feels it all over again.

The screaming feeling that something’s _wrong,_ his body telling him that he’s in horrible danger, the helplessness as he realizes that there’s nothing he can do. Mr. Stark’s arms around him as he begs. The last moment, when he lets the terror go and just feels so _guilty_ that his death will go on Tony’s conscience the way Uncle Ben’s death weighs on his own. The words “I’m sorry”, so inadequate for what’s happening, and then nothing. A void as his existence disappears.

This is usually when Peter wakes up screaming.

The first few times, Aunt May almost lost her mind, her fear and grief coming back like a tidal wave as she cradles her nephew desperately, trying to soothe him out of a panic attack.

He starts sleeping on his stomach so his screams will be muffled by the pillow, and he smiles woodenly while he lies to her, tells her he’s getting better.

Tony gives him some anxiety medicine he helped design, something that’s supposed to keep up with his metabolism. It doesn’t work, just puts a fuzzy edge on his senses, so he starts lying to Iron Man too.

He can’t stop trying to help people, needs it like air, needs the distraction. If he’s fighting, he isn’t _thinking,_ at least not about anything that hurts. It works, he decides. This can be his new normal.

Up until the day he comes face to face with a terrorist who has a gun that vaporizes people.

An innocent bystander, vanished in a poof of multicolored dust. His girlfriend, or wife perhaps, screams in shock and terror, her hands covered. She starts to shriek continuously as Peter freezes, breath coming harsh and shallow, his heart thundering in his ears. The barrel of the gun swings to aim at his face, like every one of his nightmares come to life.

He can’t move as he watches the man’s finger squeeze the trigger.

A flash of red and gold as someone lands in front of him, pushing the gun upward and blasting the terrorist back at least fifty feet. Peter can’t focus. His vision is going gray and he’s not sure he’s breathing.

The ground rushes to meet him and he sees a glimpse of red coming closer. His eyes close, and the darkness is there like an old friend.

He wakes up in the Avengers facility, every muscle tensed until he sees Mr. Stark’s face staring down at him.

“How long, kid?”

“What?” he asks.

“How long,” Tony says, voice dangerously calm, “have you been lying about the panic attacks?”

“They’re usually just at night,” he mumbles, staring at the floor.

“And you thought, what? It’d be better to pretend you were _just fine?”_

“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” he says, but they both know it’s more than that.

“You could’ve died today,” Mr. Stark tells him, voice slightly unsteady. “It’s okay to bother me.”

A thought occurs to him. “How’d you know I needed help, anyway?”

“I put heartbeat and breath monitors in your suit,” is the distracted answer he gets.

_“Why?”_

Tony locks eyes with him. “Because I know what it’s like to try and live in the aftermath. You have PTSD, Peter.”

“I’m not a soldier,” he protests, weakly.

Mr. Stark looks ancient for a moment. “No,” he says softly, “you aren’t. And that’s so much worse.”

There isn’t really anything Peter can think to say to that.

“We’ll figure this out,” Tony says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Peter looks up at him, at the mentor he’s come to trust, and allows himself to believe for a moment. To believe that it will all work out. That one day he won’t think about Thanos, or death, or what it felt like not to _be._ That he won’t wake up with tears streaming silently down his face any more. That he won’t flinch when Aunt May dusts, when he sees the particles floating in the sunlight.

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” he says.


End file.
